Page 137 of Every Good Thing
“Lena,” my voice hitches when I meet her eyes. “I love you, and I’m sorry. You and Ruthie are my joy.”
She dabs her eyes with a handkerchief while Dot, no longer a nervous wreck, wraps an arm around her in consolation.
I take a breath, refocusing on the crowd. “Mrs. Moore only added “Ode to Joy” to the program the week before she passed. Ever the strategist, she understood that it was what we needed to hear today. What I needed to hear. The song is her message to us—to celebrate her, each other, and count it all joy. The night before she left us, she told Lena that loving was losing, eventually. That makes us all joyful losers today.”
Laughs.
“This isn’t the last thing we will do for her,” I say, looking at Dot. “She’s engaged us in a mission to live fully, love completely, and seek joy in everything.”
Mild applause ensues. Mixed in, I hear Alice Harvey coo, “Oh, Ben,” while Jack bursts with an, “Amen.” Mr. Wickers calls out, “Well said, son.”
Dot gives me a smirking thumbs up, and it’s clear that she’s ready. I nod and leave the podium as she takes her place.
“Wow, Ben. I’ve never heard you talk so much,” she says, earning more laughs.
“Don’t get used to it,” I return before sitting down to more chuckles.
Dot gives a heartfelt, humorous eulogy. She describes Mrs. Moore as her savior—the only person in her life at the time who loved her for who she was.
I relate, especially when Lena’s hand clasps mine and doesn’t let go.
Dot is her usual self—blunt and vulnerable in her honesty in a way I aspire to be. When her parents leave somewhere in the middle of her gushing about Mrs. Moore’s “unconditional acceptance,” she smiles with satisfaction.
During the reception, I watch Lena move through the crowd. She is beautiful. Stunning, really. Smiling with tears in her eyes. Kind and open to everyone. She keeps her eye on me, floating to my side more often than she should. She includes me in warm conversations as if nothing’s happened.
But I know it’s only temporary.
At the end of the reception, I wait by the glass doors, umbrella in hand, for Ruthie and Lena. Most people have left, and everything has been done. The women huddle in what’s become their usual, tight-knit circle, Ruthie between them.
“Ben, get your ass over here,” Dot orders loud enough for me and anyone in the vicinity to hear.
I close the distance, merging next to Lena unsurely.
“Thanks for what you did,” Dot says. “Who knew you were such a good public speaker?”
“I didn’t,” I admit, “but it was no trouble.”
“Dot asked to take Ruthie tonight for an epic sleepover,” Lena explains. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yes. Thanks for asking.”
“Give her a goodbye kiss then,” Lena says, “and then take me home?”
I say goodbye to Ruthie and extend my final condolences to Dot.
“Will we see you later?” Jaye asks Lena as we start to walk away.
“Um, I don’t know. I’m running on empty. I’ll text you after farm chores.”
It’s a quiet ride home. Lena leans against the side window, her tears mirroring the rain slipping down the glass. The after-funeral letdown—I know it well. She’s broken but not defeated. It reminds me of when I met her and fell in love. She’s so much stronger now, though.
She’s made me stronger, too.
Everything I need to say surges in me until the air inside the Jeep feels heavy, ready to burst. She’s the one person I want to talk to, yet I struggle. Words get stuck in my throat like a vehicular pile-up on the interstate—the way forward is blocked in tangled destruction.
Destruction I caused. How could I hurt her so terribly?
The rain picks up angrily and loudly, affecting my visibility. The Jeep splashes through the driveway despite going slowly. I park close to the barn.
